Poké Wars: The Pokemon They Carried
by Cornova
Summary: My gun shakes as I reload it with my back to the wall. Death and ruin are my shadows, ones I share with the world. Everything's so different now, ever since the dampener removal, ever since the war was waged on humanity. Except for war. War never changed
1. Babysitting

**For those of you who've been patient with me these past years, I want to give you all a little sneak peek into the future of what I have planned for Poke Wars. As always, a big thanks to Jakayrta for looking over and editing this chapter. **

* * *

**0700 Hours, August 15, 0004 ADR**

**D2-79 Pelipper dropship: _Peeko_**

**2km from SW section of Groudon's Wall**

* * *

First Sergeant Surge gazed out the open drop hatch at the rear of the Pelipper dropship; a shifting viridian sea seemed to stretch into the horizon before him. He lifted his black sunglasses with a single finger from the side, letting out a low whistle at the sight. The jump ramp groaned beneath his weight, his chiseled arm on the ceiling's handrail being the only thing that kept him from falling out. His teeth glistened in the first light of dawn, a timid sun peeked over the forest to meet Surge's fierce smile.

"Uh…sir?"

Surge's finger made the tiniest of movements, letting his sunglasses fall back into place. He swallowed his smile for something more uncomfortable and pulled himself back inside the dropship, leaving the sun to rise without the scrutiny of his stare.

Surge was stooped over as he scanned the steel belly of the ship, a pair of dog tags clinked together as they hung from his neck. He had yet to find a dropship interior large enough to comfortably accommodate his height and bulk. Command, in their eternal wisdom, had yet to send in the order to manufacture a larger model.

Surge eyed each wall, lined with a row of seats too small to ever fit him, finding three of them occupied.

"You were…going to brief us on our mission…sir."

As Surge surveyed his squad he couldn't help but grimace; the action misinterpreted easily amongst them. It wasn't that he disapproved of his squad; they were healthy, able-bodied, and capable-looking soldiers. That's what upset him.

Reflecting off his glossy specs were three young, teenage faces, nowhere near old enough to join him for a drink, but just the right age to die.

Sure, he was their age when he had fought in the war, braved the horrors of it and kept walking. He had come face to face with the abyss and spit at it before laughing. Surge loved fighting, loved war, but he knew that not everyone was like him. Not everyone could enjoy aspects of war like he did, and he did not expect them to.

Surge had seen what happened to men that saw what he saw. He had seen how it had scarred some, twisted others. That was a fate that would never condemn any young soul under his command.

He stared into each of their eyes, wondering if their imaginations could even begin to fathom the horrors that awaited them.

They would watch comrades, friends, and family, die in front of them in an instant and be expected to charge forward without a second thought. They would face desolation, ruin, death; old and new nightmares. All while still being expected to follow their orders. They would have to kill, struggle, and sacrifice to survive out there. And if they were lucky, truly lucky, they would die and be spared the hell that was otherwise known as living in this age of war.

Let the draft be damned; no one their age deserved to be subjected to such a cruel punishment. Hell, he would've fought twice as hard if it meant keeping kids like these back in their homes. Oh sure, they made the service sound like something noble, giving them all a sense of purpose, hope for a future; a power to change the world for the better.

Surge stared at the next generation, wondering why they had to die for the mistakes of the past.

They wouldn't be the first batch of rookies he had been sent to work with, nor would they be the last. Surge kneeled, allowing him to lift his head without hitting the ceiling. He lifted his customized U-class Pokéglov to his chest.

"Map," he said into the glossy black and yellow surface of the gauntlet; a small section of the gauntlet's surface shifted slightly. Light filtered from the small slot atop the gauntlet, forming a three-dimensional model of the earth. Gridlines formed over the hologram's translucent surface, the planet slowly spinning in place.

"Lake of Rage," Surge said again. His gaze never left the holographic planet as it pulsed and enlarged. Numbers of latitudes and longitudes streamed to the sides of the planet as sectors of the planet were magnified several times. Eventually the numbers stopped and the image froze in place, Surge turned the hologram with a single finger until his squad could see it. A single blue lake dominated the picture with a single road connecting it to the rest of the region

"All right babies, what we have here is the Lake of Rage," Surge began; zooming out until the rest of the continent was visible. Even though he referred to the troops under his command as "babies", it was meant only as a playful jab at their inexperience in combat.

"Everything above the lake is human territory; everything below belongs to the wild Pokémon and Ho-oh's legion."

Surge's squad eyed the stark contrast in territory. The sight was disheartening. Orange columns and markers labeled the old roads, towns, and cities that once belonged to them and none of which were within their domain. They had been driven out and forced to live in the mountains and woods in the north.

"Our mission's simple. It'll be a reconnaissance mission. We'll be scouting past our borders, bringing back any resources we find or at least securing it for evac. That's the first half of our mission. The second half of our mission will be locating and establishing a base of operations on the east coast of Kanto. The mission will start at oh-900 hours; our LZ will be the in the northeastern sector of the region around…here."

Surge's finger made tiny circles over the region before finding their landing zone.

"We'll regroup with Bravo team on the eastern coast. Bravo team will be several kilometers north of our position. Once we've established a base along the coast, we'll wait for evac where Delta squad and tech support will take over from there."

Surge stood up as far as the interior would allow him, turning off the hologram projector with his free hand. He glanced briefly at his squad before closing his eyes with a sigh.

"We're going in with limited intel seeing as we no longer have the benefit of satellites anymore. I myself haven't ventured out into this region for several years, so I don't know what to expect. The maps on your Pokéglovs aren't up to date, so the geology of the area might be very different from what we have. Our LZ is consists of mostly ruins and wasteland, it's doubtful that we'll encounter any hostiles, but we're going in prepared for it nonetheless."

"Sir…what kind of Pokémon will we be fighting?" one of the soldiers asked. His uniform bore the single gold chevron of a Private E-2.

Surge shrugged his shoulders, the action being awkward seeing as he was hunched over.

"We're expected the reach the coast in two days, whatever hostiles we find will have to be dealt with quickly. You babies have gone through training, so you each should know around 200 Pokémon and how to deal with 'em. The Legendary Pokémon on our side have held the western border, so we won't have to worry about dealing with tier one hostiles. I hope that answers your question."

Surge waited for the slightest hint of a nod before ending the briefing and marching out to the jump ramp where he could stand at full height. He flexed a finger, the Pokeglov whirring to life for a few seconds before a cigarette poked out through one of the slots. Surge grabbed the end of it with his teeth, surprised to find it already lit.

"Gotta love Orretech," he said through a muffled chuckle, taking a long draft before he saw them.

A column of M1-12 Rhydon cargo carriers stretched for miles to the west like a river of steel. There were two rows of the colossal vehicles, one slowly heading in their direction, one inching away. Even with his enhanced sight, he could only make out twenty six of the massive vehicles.

_Convoy must stretch all to Orre_. Surge thought, pulling the cigarette from his lips with two fingers and blowing out a steady stream of smoke.

These enormous armored vehicles could carry water, food, medical supplies, fuel, equipment and even an entire platoon. The caterpillar treads they rolled on were twice Surge's height and three times his width. Weighing in at 136 tons – empty – and towering over most Pokémon at fourteen meters tall, it was quite an impressive sight. Its only weakness – as Surge saw – was its abysmal speed, twenty five miles per hour at full throttle – a Magcargo was faster. Despite their great size and low speed, they were far from defenseless; turrets bearing 30 mm autocannons jutted out from the sides, front and rear. But its main armament was its 105mm smoothbore cannon mounted on its top and capable of rotating a full 360 degrees. Finally, its armor was impervious anything short of a Hyper Beam or Legendary Pokémon attack.

_If we can see the caravan, then that means we're close._ Surge thought, flicking his half finished cigarette into the air and onto the dirt path below them. Despite the whine of the dropship's engines, he could still hear the rumbling of the Rhydon cargo carriers thanks to his enhanced hearing. He checked the time, smiling when he saw that along with the time and date there was a number showing many cigarettes his Pokéglov had in stock.

They were close; he could feel it. Just from the fact that they had gained altitude was enough of a clue. Surge could hear his squad whisper among themselves, possibly about him, possibly not; he didn't care. Within a few days it probably wouldn't matter. He told himself not to try and remember their names or their faces; it would be easier that way. Surge doubted this mission would go off without a hitch. By the end of the mission, one of them would die. Against his better judgment, Surge looked back, his squad quickly taking notice that they had garnered his attention and visibly straightened in their seats.

From the looks of it, one was a young Joy; their field medic for this mission.

Nervous cerulean pools occasionally glanced away from the polished, rose-colored surface of her medical Pokéglov, briefly giving him a fleeting glimpse before letting her gaze quickly return to her equipment's lustrous casing. A beige combat helmet hid her pink hair, save for two thick locks that looped into the back of her head like the countless generations before her.

Surge had always felt that there was something odd about the Joy family, especially with their genes. The mothers always produced daughters, practically identical in appearance and nature, regardless of who the father was. For decades they had maintained a high status, not only as nurses but as government workers as well. The war hadn't lowered their status, only their numbers.

Surge had seen dozens of Joys, acting as field medics for the wounded soldiers in his younger years. Within a few years he could tell the veterans from the rookies, and the longer he watched her, the more he became sure that command had left him to babysit a Joy fresh from the academy.

Out of the three, she would have it the hardest, only because she would to survive in situations where her comrades would not. She would have to watch lives slip between her fingers and deal with the pain and guilt even in instances where it would truly not be her fault. Whether it was her first or her fiftieth loss, she would come to learn that she would not be able to save everyone.

Surge sighed, making the silent promise to not let another Joy under his command die if he could help it. Were she to die during their mission, their chances of survival would drop significantly. _He_ was replaceable; _she_ was not. To kill something was easy, especially if they handed him a weapon. To keep the dying alive, for all his strength and speed and ability, it was a skill he did not possess. He knew better than to consider her something frail and a liability from his first impression of her. If anything she might prove to be more capable than the others.

Surge gave the other two soldiers a passing glance before turning his back on them and back to the now distant caravan. If they made it past the first few days he would make the effort to notice them. By the end of the mission, if they were still alive, he would try to ask them and refer to them by their names. Within the first few years, if they were still there, he might even try to remember their names.

"Hey babies, you might want take a look at this if this is your first time past our border," Surge said over his shoulder as he stepped out onto the jump ramp once more, feeling like a kid in a candy store. The sight of it always managed to make him smile as his heart raced.

Surge spotted the edges of the wall's shadow creeping along the earth's surface several meters below them. Without warning the earth's surface seemingly jumped to meet them, the shadow of their ship wrought upon stone. Soldiers and Pokémon alike scrambled below them. Surge quickly realized he was beaming, his squad standing just before the jump ramp and gawking at the sight.

Surge marveled at one of the armored vehicles that passed underneath them: an M009 Blastoise hovertank, silently hovering a foot off the floor with its antigravity pods. Soldiers manned rows of M24 Octillery field guns at the edge of the wall; their backs were to the tank as it hummed past them.

_Despite being modeled after Pokémon, the man knows how to make weapons. That Dr. Kaminko…a man after my own heart_. Surge thought.

Despite being 30 meters wide, they passed the surface of the wall in seconds. Surge chuckled as his squad instinctively stepped back, the wall suddenly dropping into a seemingly bottomless ravine. The gap between the wall and the mainland was substantial and the inability to see the bottom of the ravine created a foreboding and ominous atmosphere.

Groudon's Wall – or Groudon's Mountain Range as some called it – spanned over 200 kilometers, starting from the edge of Mt. Moon all the way into the Sekra Range. Before they had lost their satellite imaging it could even be seen from space. It was about thirty meters thick and made of the densest rock from the deepest recesses of the earth.

Altaria and Pidgeot patrolled the air above it from dawn till dusk, the night shift taken over by Ledian and Noctowl. Despite it being years since the wall had seen any battle, command refused to let their guard down, creating multiple shifts and leaving the wall defended and maintained 24/7 by its soldiers.

News of being stationed at the wall was met with mixed feelings. On one hand, it you were being kept out of harm's way and put to work being kept busy; on the other hand some people grew so bored that they couldn't wait to go out into the field and find some action.

As if that weren't enough, there was one solid kilometer marking the end of their border. It was a mishmash of Trapinch antipersonnel mines and Magnemite magnetic anti-armor mines for anything that dared come at them by land. Anything hostile coming at them by air would be swiftly cut to pieces by a hail of explosive flak from strategically placed anti-air guns. Anything approaching within 2000 meters was met with lethal .50 caliber rounds from snipers hidden all along the wall.

"Though I'm pretty sure Dawn could do nail someone from at least 2500 meters," Surge mumbled under his breath after reciting the wall's stats to the squad. He said it with such pride one would think it were his magnum opus and not Groudon's.

Surge gave one last look at the wall, now miles away, before ducking back into the dropship.

"All right babies, show's over. Just sit tight until we land," Surge said with a sigh, slamming his fist against the bulkhead, signaling the pilot to close the drop hatch as he made his way to the cockpit.

* * *

"So how'd it go? I hope you didn't rough them up too badly," the pilot said, his eyes never leaving the skies before them.

"Nah…they're just…young, too young if you ask me, or maybe I'm goin' soft," Surge replied.

"No. I feel ya, it's a crime what command's doing, but can ya do? We're still at war."

"I can try my best to not let any of 'em die."

"Amen to that."

Surge eyed another Pelipper dropship coming into his sight, moving slightly ahead of them in the sudden silence.

"That bravo team?" Surge asked, already knowing the answer but simply trying to make conversation.

The pilot nodded. "Yep. I can connect you if ya wanna say something."

"That won't be necessary; they've already been briefed on their mission. They're the last people I'd need to worry about."

"Why's that?"

Bravo Team's a group of trainers," Surge replied.

The pilot let out a low whistle. "Well I'll be damned. This is a pretty intense mission then?"

"It will be for them. Remember the Mt. Moon incident?"

The pilot visibly flinched at the mention of the mission. "Ouch."

Surge sighed in agreement. "Yeah."

"That's a suicide mission ain't it?"

"Not fer them," Surge replied.

"Anyone I know? Captain Ketchum? Lieutenant Imite?"

"Neither. Don't think you know 'em. They don't get as much notice but they're still excellent trainers. One of them can fight on par with Samurai."

"Who?" the pilot asked. He never took his eyes off the instrument panel.

"Oh, right. I forgot about that. Damn, I guess it's been a while. You all probably know him as 'Shogun'," Surge replied.

"Whoa ho ho! This guy can actually go toe to toe with the Sho?"

"Yeah. His name's Hiiro Mizutani, close combat specialist. The other two are Mimoru, demolitions expert and Vincent who's just there as a powerhouse. They're not bringing in all the guns but this guy can sure pack a wallop. You never know what's out there."

"Better safe than sorry," the pilot added in before silence slowly reigned once more.

Surge shrugged, sensing now that their little moment of small talk was over. He resigned himself to staring out into the distance, seeing nothing but barren wasteland and ruin.

But what did he expect.

This was all that was left of Kanto.

* * *

**For those of you who enjoyed this and would like some insight as to what happened to the world, I'd recommend reading my other works. Poke Wars: The Incipience, The Exigence, and The Subsistence. **


	2. Roll Call

**Wanna to thank Jakayrta and REV6Pilot for their betaing this chapter so quickly.  
**

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**0900 Hours, August 15, 0004 ADR**

**D2-79 Pelipper dropship: ****_Peeko_**

Private Conner Ohnson lifted his gaze off the standard issue camo pokéglov on his arm. It was lightweight, only four pounds, and covered his forearm from wrist to elbow. He could hear it hum gently against his ear when he scratched the back of his head, comforted to know that he'd been given a working one. It came with the usual functions that all standard issue pokéglovs came with: a dated holographic map of the region, a compass, as well as some tabs on the corner of the screen for him to check any objectives, protocols or instructions.

The pokéglov displayed four contacts, recognizing the three other members of his team. He could tap the image of their faces, bringing up their rank, age, height and weight, among other things. Compared to the pokéglovs that trainers received, his was nothing special.

The dropship's interior was deathly quiet. Although it could easily hold a small platoon, the only other seats taken were the ones beside his own. To his left sat their field medic, and with a single glance he could tell she was doing everything within her power not to fall apart in every passing second.

She had even succeeded in making their SSTSV ballistic vest look good on her. The armor hugged her curves in all the right places. As her eyes moved onto him, his quickly darted to a part of the ceiling. It became a silent game of who could stare at the other without being caught in the act.

Ohnson struggled to piece together her name from what he recalled from her profile. If he looked her up on his pokéglov she would notice, and if he got her name wrong…well he didn't want to get her name wrong. It wasn't his first time seeing those rosy locks and sapphire eyes. He couldn't count how many times he had seen the girl's aunts, sisters, and cousins around the base. Conner knew all too well she was a Joy, but beyond that, he was flying blind.

"Hey, was it me or did Sarge seem not as crazy as they say?"

Ohnson's head spun to meet Private Winston Kane, the one sitting in the seat to his right.

"Yo, shut up, he can probably still hear you!" he hissed.

"No he can't. He's not a trainer, right?" Kane countered.

"Just 'cause he's not with the other trainers doesn't mean he doesn't have amplifications. We don't need you making it harder on the rest of us by saying stupid shit!"

Not enough time had elapsed for Ohnson to make an opinion, and so he decided to reserve his judgment for later. He had heard the rumors about the sergeant, stories of acts that many considered brave and the majority had considered crazy. When Surge's name had come up as a contact on his pokéglov, Ohnson had to admit he had paled.

"Still, for a guy who's supposedly got a few screws loose, he seemed pretty normal. I don't care what they say, he's got nothing on Mendez back at boot," Kane said, just above a whisper.

Ohnson had tried not to think about what training had been like; most of it was a blur, anyway. He remembered it had been difficult, even as he had begun to gain strength and endurance.

Kane had been with him in boot; the training had come easily to him. Before the dampeners had been removed he'd been part of a swim team at school, and the results were evident. Beneath his synthetic Spinarak silk tactical vest was a chiseled body, forged by years of swimming.

It wasn't like Kane and he went way back; they simply recognized each other from the sparing glances when they passed each other in the halls at school. Kane was popular and easily noticed – the only dark-skinned swimmer on the swim team. Ohnson hadn't been much of anything back then – there was nothing special to make him stand out.

They had never really talked to each other back then, and whenever they had at boot camp, it was always about the good old days. It had been a pleasant surprise when they recognized each other on the first day of boot – and also a painful reminder. Ohnson guessed that he was as much a reminder of a life before the dampener removal as Kane was for him.

Before the dampener removal, there had been only school and living with his mom and dad. He had never shown any interest in Pokémon, never once considering the possibility of leaving home to become a Pokémon master, or at least a trainer. His friend Jake had left on his tenth birthday to try his hand at being a trainer, but that had been several years ago.

"_He's probably dead now,_" he thought bitterly, eyes fixated on the metallic gray ceiling above him.

* * *

**0900 Hours, August 15, 0004 ADR**

**D2-82 Pelipper dropship: ****_Orville_**

The air inside the _Orville_ was as cold and sterile as the steel interior and the harsh white fluorescent lights overhead. The dropship had enough seats to carry a small platoon, but there were only three occupants. The members of Bravo Team. The air was almost as silent as the vacuum of space, except for the faint thrum of the ship's massive engines – and the occasional _pop_ that came from Mimoru, the mission's demolition expert. Corporal Vincent, the leader of Bravo Team, watched the blue-haired man across from him sleep without a care in the world as leaned into his – very uncomfortable – seat.

He had briefly skimmed through Mimoru's records on his pokéglov, surprised to find that this seemingly narcoleptic man was still alive, let alone so adept with explosives. A small snot bubble on the man's nose inflated and deflated with every silent snore.

Concerns for the future of the mission rose to the surface of Vincent's thoughts.

Mimoru's records were relatively short, most of it having to do with missions he'd been on, his physical characteristics and his current party roster. There were only a handful of trainers who impressed Vincent with regards to their party, Mimoru's team being added that ever-shrinking list. After going over his party's stats it was no wonder he had survived so long.

_'__That would explain how his team works so efficiently without being given orders, or at least not any orders we can hear_,' Vincent mused, turning his pokéglov off. He lifted his gaze to watch Mimoru's snot bubble pop for the umpteenth time since their mission began. Piercing cerulean eyes suddenly stared at him across the room, half-lidded but no less striking. He instinctively flinched beneath the frigid stare.

Mimoru lazily scanned the room, moving his head at a painstakingly slow rate, never once moving his eyes. Once he was sated by the state of his surroundings, his eyes closed. Within a few seconds, Vincent could hear the man snoring once more and see another snot bubble on his nose.

It wasn't Vincent's first time meeting Mimoru eye to eye, but nothing truly prepared him for being subjected to the man's stare. Vincent had seen victims of the war, soulless eyes that could look at someone and see no difference between the person and the background. The sheen of life was lost in these windows to the soul, leaving husks that had seen the death and destruction of everything that they once held dear. Mimoru's eyes were nothing like that, but if Vincent didn't know any better; he could've sworn the blue-haired man looked bored.

Oddly enough, what he considered strange, the women back at HQ had considered endearing. Despite being twenty-one, he appeared relatively young, his short stature betraying his age. Rather than alienate him, the fact that he never spoke shrouded him in an aura of mystery that the girls found interesting. His cold, disinterested eyes were always present whenever he wasn't dozing off. Even if someone rudely awakened him, no words ever left his perpetually locked lips.

If anything, not once had anyone seen the man in question display any kind of emotion. Apparently, the closest he had ever come to speaking were hand gestures and the occasional nod or shake of his head.

If Mimoru had anything of a social life, no one knew of it. Many simply assumed the atrocities he had seen left him the way he was. Those that had known him for longer said that was not the case.

Nowhere in his records was it stated that he was mute, so the only reason in his refusal to speak rested in a conscious decision not to.

Vincent couldn't complain; command had put him on the team for a reason, aside from the fact that their mission required someone with a field of knowledge in demolitions. After looking more in depth about the missions he had undertaken it came as a bit of a surprise that he had executed each and every one of them perfectly.

Mimoru had been known to take orders from his superiors without question or hesitation, even going as far as to perform above what was expected of him. Through his traits and actions he had earned himself the name "Marionette." Whether he considered his nickname derogatory or not, he still answered to it.

Vincent had no desire to call Mimoru by that, finding it distasteful. Behind that apathetic stare lay a well of knowledge, loyalty and determination not found in a simple puppet. He could adapt to the situation and change himself accordingly, something that the soldiers had probably not given him credit for.

A flash of silver cleaved itself through his focus, bringing his attention to the other trainer in their group. Unlike Mimoru, Vincent knew this trainer well enough to feel no need to look him up. He recognized Hiiro Mizutani from matches they'd had back at the sparring and practice quarters in the base.

'_Command must have a sense of humor for putting such polar opposites on the same team.'_ Where Mimoru frequently dozed off into the realm of slumber, Mizutani looked like he hadn't slept in days. Dark bags had formed beneath his dark mahogany eyes; his salt and pepper hair was hidden behind an equally dark bandanna he was never seen without.

This was ferocity given human form, silently dealing deathblows to an onset of imaginary enemies with every whirl. Not a single sound escaped him as he went through the stances he practiced, as the dropship's interior was wide enough to allow for a full range of movement with both his sword and hooked kunai. Every movement had a purpose. Not a joule of his strength was wasted.

While Mimoru had the emotional range of a brick, Mizutani made no effort to hide that something ate him from the inside. In all the times they had sparred, whether Mizutani won or lost, Vincent had never seen the scowl he wore leave his face. In his years at headquarters, Vincent gradually learned to tell the difference between trainers who had survived. There were those, like Mimoru, that had made it to them unscathed, losing not a single member of their party. And then there were those that had lost nearly half their team or came to them having once been trainers.

Vincent could tell that Mizutani had witnessed things that still haunted him to this day. Sorrow and rage were what fueled his deadly, flowing strikes. If stares could kill, then Vincent would've died by Mizutani's hand a thousand times over. The subtle flames of rage that burned in his eyes, the way his nostrils flared whenever their steel clashed, all made Vincent feel that if they told him he'd slain Mizutani's Pokémon, he would've believed it.

His time on the battlefield had earned him the epithet Black Blade, his signature black katana being one of the only heirlooms of his past. Crimson runes on both sides ran the length of the blade and enveloped the scabbard.

Rumors circulated among soldiers about the sword and its wielder. It was said that the runes weren't actually red, but engraved into the obsidian surface and filled with the blood of Mizutani's victims. Others said the blade had once been white and that the countless bloody battles had stained it red until the blood dried and turned it black, its white guard and hilt proof of its original color.

If any of these rumors held any truth, no one dared ask him directly.

When he wasn't on missions, he spent his time perfecting his technique and maintaining his equipment, forsaking a social life for what Vincent could only assume was atonement for not being strong enough to save what he had lost. In spite of his outward attitude, the women found him equally as enticing as Mimoru. Sadly, Kane and several others had watched dozens of attempts to garner the tiniest bit of his attention fail miserably. It wasn't that he had no interest in a relationship; his unspoken oath to those who had fallen presided over everything else – at least until he felt he had redeemed himself.

With all the hours he put in to his training, it was no wonder he had been able to fight on par with Shogun, the legendary head of the Trainers' Melee Weapons Division. Mizutani's fighting style was swift and fierce. Inhuman reaction times and quick reflexes were needed if one wanted to last longer than a few seconds against him. To the untrained eye, his swings seemed feral and chaotic, yet despite the anger that fueled him, he always maintained a level head. Anger gave him focus, kept him on his toes and on guard for anything that could happen, and he knew they did at a moment's notice.

If Mizutani and Mimoru held anything at all in common, it was their oath of silence, the only difference being the severity of it.

'_Maybe that fact that they don't talk much is why they made me the team leader,_' Vincent mused with a mental chuckle. He hefted his kwan dao, turning the broad side of the golden blade to face him. Olive green eyes stared back at him, somewhat obscured by tresses of wavy, dirty blonde hair. Vincent slid his hand back, gathering the loose ends and tying it into a pony tail on the back of his head.

There were no creative titles whispered by the soldiers who saw him appear on the battlefield. It wasn't like he hadn't done anything special; he had done loads, but prominent presence didn't always ensure a title. Vincent was fine with that. All that really mattered was keeping those dear to him alive.

He'd been lucky he had lost only a few Pokémon before he reached humanity's first true haven. His face bore no visible scars. He felt confident that he was at least handsome, aside from a much-needed shave, and content no one could see the marks that marred his soul.

He risked a sidelong glance at Mizutani before retreating to his thoughts. The man wasn't exactly the most approachable, yet somehow they managed to charm the women back at the base. He began to wonder if he was doing something wrong, but let the thought die. Now wasn't the time to be thinking of girls.

They had a mission to do. And they had to make sure it went without a hitch.

The mission was simple. As Bravo Team they would infiltrate the Rock Tunnel Cave, deploy a set of sonic resonance bombs in strategic areas and evacuate the premises before the count reached zero. All the while fending off thousands of Zubat, their evolutions, and anything else that coexisted with them in the cave. Once they were done with that, they would rendezvous with Delta Squad along the east coast of Kanto. It sounded simple enough. There was only one truly daunting aspect of the mission: ensure each and every hostile Pokémon was eliminated, lest it became a repeat of the Mt. Moon incident.

Zubat skin had become extremely sensitive to sunlight due to eons of evolution from their ancestors that avoided the ultraviolet rays whenever possible. Centuries of nocturnal hunting stole their eyes, but compensated them with an excellent sense of hearing, allowing the use of echolocation as their main source of knowing what lay in a world of darkness. Their greatest strength was to become their greatest weakness.

If all went according to plan, then the massive shockwave produced by the charges would rip through the Zubat like a Hyper Beam through rice paper. Those that survived would be deafened, and hence effectively "blinded" as well, hopefully dying of starvation with their primary sense taken from them. Even if other Pokémon survived the blast – as long as it wasn't any of the bat's variety – the mission would be deemed a success.

The intended purpose of their mission was to eradicate all hostile Pokémon from the area without completely destroying the cave. Transporting resources from Orre and its factories was no longer cost effective, and resources from Fiore and Almia were already scarce, leaving Command with few options to work with.

Invading Johto was out of the question: Ho-oh had deemed it necessary to have the land heavily guarded. As to why he guarded it so viciously, no one was sure – not even the Legendaries they had contact with. A multitude of theories surfaced, ranging from sentimental value, seeing as it was the region where it all had begun, to the idea that he was preparing something that demanded top secrecy and protection. Regardless, this left headquarters with the only other neighbor region it could exploit. The battles waged on Kantonese soil had left it inhospitable to a majority of wild Pokémon. Even Ho-oh had turned a blind eye to the region, seeing it as not worth his time. Dust, ruins and echoes were all that remained on the land that had been repeatedly taken and retaken by both sides.

In the grand scheme of things, it was humanity's first large military campaign to take back what was left of Kanto. Their mission was one of hundreds that were going on today.

Vincent found himself trying to visualize thousands of Pelipper dropships, Yanmega helicopters, and Skarmory jets moving out all at once across Kanto, letting his imagination help him pass the time until they reached their destination.

**0915 Hours, August 15, 0004 ADR**

**D2-79 Pelipper dropship: ****_Peeko_**

"Hey Ohnson… You nervous?" Kane asked.

"What do you think?" Ohnson spat back.

"Whoa, chill out man! There's nothing to worry about. From what I keep hearing, Kanto's all wasteland and ruins. Even Sarge said there probably isn't anything out there. Besides, there'll be hundreds of platoons out there with us, surveying other sectors. Who knows, we might cross paths with another squad and they'll join us, or even better, we'll find a trainer! This'll probably be a walk in the park. They wouldn't send fresh rookies like us out to just to die."

'_I wouldn't put it past them',_ Ohnson thought to himself, choosing not to voice the traitorous thought.

Seeing his partner unconvinced made Kane lean back with a sigh. "I'm pretty sure this'll be a walk in the park. How's this? When we come back from this mission I'll take you guys out to dinner."

"What for?" Ohnson groaned.

"In celebration of our first successful mission, of course!" he replied as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet.

"Don't call it successful if it hasn't even started."

"Details," Kane countered with a casual wave of his hand, "What d'ya say? Anywhere you wanna eat. My treat."

It took a second for Ohnson to realize Kane's gaze was no longer directed only at him. Ohnson turned to find the young Joy just the way he had left her when he had retreated into his thoughts. The woman's eyes were to the floor, her white-knuckled hands visibly shaking as she wrung the fabric of her uniform.

Kane turned to the woman and spoke: "Relax, we're gonna be fine. If anything happens, you've got Ohnson, Sarge and me to back you up. That's the first thing they beat us over the head with in boot," Kane said softly.

The young Joy's eyes lifted from her lap and gazed into Kane's eyes. Before she knew, it a small part of her was clinging to a tiny spark of hope. Ohnson knew this was the effect Kane had on people. His voice held no doubts, no hesitation. Those were not merely hollow words to comfort her; he truly believed in what he said.

"So what say you, me, and Ohnson here grab a bite to eat when we get back? I'm payin'. Hell, we can even invite Sarge!" Kane said cheerily.

For a few seconds, nothing but the hum of the dropship's antigravity pods filled the silence that followed.

"Okay," she replied barely above a whisper, giving a nearly imperceptible nod.

"Besides, what could go wro-"

"Don't jinx it," Ohnson hissed.

The young Joy resumed her original position as Kane rambled on about a new subject. She was shivering less now, and if Ohnson didn't know any better, he could've sworn that she'd allowed herself a small smile.


End file.
